This is a song about "Preamble to the const"

To the voice of the oblivion,

I hit your block and we can box for fun

Chasing the feeling to conquer to own it

Black foamposites, it's like we on that mobbing shit

Get ready to hail to the king

Go pop some pills or something

The door to the world, and the box to my cock

I'd rather not live like there isn't a god

The memories were to shitty to even last,

Stuck in my high, afraid of heights, i'm trapped

Really have to pay attention to the minutiae

I got that good stroke, come be my mona lisa

Shits hilarious, take the game to the

Our history that they stole, africa